


Beneath the Skin

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Horror, M/M, Rough Sex, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He drifted to sleep fitfully, heart heavy with the strain between them that neither one wanted to acknowledge. But for now it was good enough. They’d last another case, another month, another crisis. Dean didn’t care, as long as they were together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath the Skin

_"So get this. All the vics come in pairs. Only one of them have missing hearts, and there are no signs of an animal attack. The second vic in each instance, all but one of them died too, and the sick part is, the second vics had chunks of the first vics heart in their stomachs."_

"Oh dude."

_"They’re eating each other."_

"Gross. You couldn’t have waited to tell me this after dinner?"

_"Are you almost done with the interview?"_

"Yeah, man, every one of these couples, the people that knew them just kept talking about how sweet and how perfect for each other they were, and it was just so out of character."

_"I think cannibalism is out of character for most people."_

"Yeah. So. Not werewolves."

_"Definitely not werewolves."_

"All right. Meet back at the motel for dinner."

_"We need to go over the photos, I want to show you a few things. I got the files from the coroner."_

"I’m still gonna eat."

_"Might not want to after you see these."_

"Whatever. You want me to pick you up?"

_"Nah, I’m a fifteen minute walk from the motel."_

"All right, see you in a few."

-

Dean made Sam put the pictures down, closed, so they could have a nice dinner of cannibalistic murder free burgers. After they’d finished dinner, Sam dug out the files he had on the vics, and Dean grabbed two cold beers. Taking a long pull and scrubbing his hand over his face, Dean grabbed a file at random and started digging for any relevant information.

Sifting through several different files on different couples, the photos were all gruesome. The crime scenes were soaked red with two naked bodies all twisted up in each and torn open. The coroner’s photos, even after the corpses had been washed up, only highlighted the deep jagged lacerations, chunks of flesh missing, purpling bruises everywhere and ragged lines of nail marks. It was vicious.

Dean got another beer.

"Man, these almost look like animal attacks."

"I know."

"What could make these people go crazy? We sure these are all just people?"

"Every one of them. I checked two pairs that were at the morgue, absolutely no signs of them being any sort of monsters. I’m guessing it’s the same for the rest. Something made them do it."

"Why does this stink of witches."

"Because it’s probably witches."

"I hate witches."

"Yeah."

"Sure it’s not demons?"

"No sulfur. And why would demons possess a person just to kill them."

"I dunno man, why do any of the crazies do any of the crazy shit they do. Why would witches do this?"

"A witch would have more human motive, probably."

"All right. Let’s keep looking."

A few more beers and way too many gory photos, reports, and lab results later and they had found a weak suspect as well as a survivor. All but one of the couples involved had each killed each other by the end of whatever had happened. There was one person left who was taken in and after being treated for their multiple wounds was locked in a heavily guarded psychiatric ward.

There was one person that all the vics had in common. A marriage counselor. The impression that Dean had gotten from interviewing family and friends left behind was that the vics were all happily married picture perfect couples. They never fought, they went to church together, they were involved in each other’s hobbies, they were the kind of couples that every couple wanted to be.

At least that’s what it had looked like. But every couple had also been seeing this marriage counselor, a Ms. Porter, in secret. It was definitely suspicious. They planned to try and get an interview with the survivor first, then do a little snooping on Ms. Porter, and see what came up.

When they’d figured out a course of action for the next day, Dean was ready to try and get a few hours of sleep. Sam waved him off, still focused on his research. He was trying to figure out what kind of spell could compel a person to eat another person. Or something like that. Dean didn’t care what was being done. They’d find the witch, ice it, and move on.

He brushed his teeth, stripped to a tee and boxers, and curled up under the funny smelling motel sheets. But he didn’t fall asleep. It was good to be working a case again with Sam. Good to have baby back. Good to be feeling almost like they were normal again. But they never really were normal to start with were they. And they sure as shit still weren’t now.

Dean still couldn’t really figure out what their dad had meant when he told him he might have to take Sam out some day, didn’t really know why Dad would sell his soul, knew that Sam was keeping something from him but hadn’t the smallest speck of an idea as to what. All in all, he never really slept well anymore.

The soft yellow light of the kitchenette was buzzing with a faint hum while Sam sighed, hunched over the spread out reports on the little table. Dean listened to the two of them, the light and his brother. Eventually the buzz stopped and the room went dark, then he listened to Sam’s nightly routine getting ready for bed. The room lit up again with one of the lamps on the nightstand. Dean kept quiet, and he kept still. He’d probably fall asleep once Sam started snoring. That always seemed to do him in, weirdly enough.

He felt his bed dip, the heat of Sam’s body stretching against his back and a heavy hand settling on his hip.

"I know you’re not asleep."

Dean just grunted in reply.

Sam kissed the back of his neck and Dean couldn’t suppress the little shiver that went down his back. He knew Sam would feel it, the fucker.

"Whadya want."

"Just let me make you feel good."

Dean rolled over onto his back, shifted his hips as Sam’s hand settled on his stomach underneath his t-shirt. Sam wasn’t wearing any shirt, he had boxers on, tented out in front, but his chest was bare and his lips were parted. His fingers flexed and curled, petting over Dean’s stomach, reaching lower.

"I know you haven’t been sleeping well."

"C’mon, Sammy, you wanna get me in the mood, talking about feelings isn’t the way to do it."

Sam glared at him, hands grabbing his waist roughly and pulling him up enough to slide his shirt over his head. Dean curled towards Sam, and was pushed onto his back. Sam kissed down the length of his torso, nipping at the soft parts of his stomach, leaving a wet trail from his belly button down to where Sam’s hands were pulling his boxers off.

Dean hummed his approval, pushing his fingers through Sam’s hair, thumb tracing the contour of his cheek. Sam grasped his erection and licked at the head of it, looking up at Dean in the soft light of the bedside lamp, one half of his face mostly shaded.

"C’mon baby boy, gonna be a tease?"

Sam closed his lips around the head of Dean’s cock and sucked, tongue flattened against the slit and rubbing, before sucking him down. Dean gripped harder in to Sam’s hair pulling him down, and rolled his hips up into that wet heat. Sam braced himself on his elbows, arms slid under Dean’s thighs, neck straightened out, hands palming at Dean’s ass and lifting him up a little more.

"Oh fuck - “

His brother knew what buttons to press to get him to come embarrassingly quick. Dry fingers pressed at his hole, rubbing, while Sam swallowed Dean’s cock down into his throat, muscles seizing and tight around him. Dean didn’t know when or when or why Sam was blessed with no gag reflex but he’d been lucky to know this fact since he was eighteen. Taking a deep lungful of air and arching up into Sam’s mouth Dean came gasping, hands fisted in Sam’s hair and holding him down. Sam swallowed, throat muscles pulling at the head of his cock and Dean jerked with the rippling protraction of his orgasm, finally letting Sam go.

Sprawling back on the bed, stupefied, Dean reached up lazily with a wave that was a vague question of what Sam wanted for himself and a vague permission to take whatever that was. Sam kneeled up between Dean’s legs and pushed his boxers down, gripping his cock and jerking off furiously. Curling over Dean, bracing a hand on the wall and working himself over, Sam’s body was taut and muscled. Dean loved watching the way the muscles in his arms worked, in his chest and stomach, when he masturbated, especially if he was hovering over Dean while he did it.

Sam grunted and cursed and came all over Dean’s belly. Hot and sticky, the bitter smell of it thick, Dean yawned and stretched one arm up while Sam flopped over next to him.

After a minute, the light was flicked off and Sam was wiping him down with a discarded t-shirt, rolling him over and molding against his back, cuddling him. Dean felt actually pretty capable of falling asleep now, but a good orgasm had that effect. And the safe feeling of being wrapped up in Sam’s arms.

"G’night."

He felt a kiss against the back of his neck again, Sam lining their curved legs up, felt the beat of his brother’s heart against his back.

"Night De."

He drifted to sleep fitfully, heart heavy with the strain between them that neither one wanted to acknowledge. But for now it was good enough. They’d last another case, another month, another crisis. Dean didn’t care, as long as they were together.

-

Getting in to see the lone survivor didn’t prove to be that difficult. They flashed their fake badges and flashed their fake smiles. In no time they were being led down winding hallways and doors with key badge pads for security. There were bars over the windows and the walls were painted in what was probably supposed to be a cheerful yellow but just ended up looking faded and melancholy.

The staff didn’t want to move the girl from the bed she was restrained in. Thick leather cuffs tied her ankles and wrists to the hospital bed. They let Sam and Dean in to the room and stood watch over their shoulders during the proceedings.

At first, Dean didn’t think that they girl was going to say a single word to them. After they’d introduced themselves, and why they were there, and asked a few questions about the marriage counselor she’d been seeing, it was totally silent.

She was pretty. Slender, round brown eyes, fair complexion, dark hair. She stared at the ceiling the whole time unblinking. Just when they were ready to give up on her, the girl started thrashing against the restraints screaming at the top of her lungs “Lies, Lies, Lies”.

The hospital staff pushed past Sam and Dean, holding her still and injecting her with something. Dean assumed she was yelling that everything they had accused her of was lies.

-

Dean and Sam argued about the best approach to take with their suspect. Dean voted for snooping around, breaking in to Ms. Porter’s office and checking out the records she must have on the vics sessions with her, maybe sneaking around her house too. Sam wanted to talk to her, of course he did, because tipping her off to the fact that she’s being suspected of something isn’t a bad idea at all. Dean likes the element of surprise. Unfortunately, it was the middle of the day and Ms. Porter was the next best lead they had after the crazy girl, so they ended up rolling up in front of her office to talk to her.

Dean didn’t like it. They didn’t actually have any evidence that it’s a witch in play, and the only suspicion they have on Ms. Porter is that she’s the only person linking the vics together. But he has a hunch. And Dean knows his hunches are good, after years of hunting, he listens. There’s just a creepy vibe coming off Ms. Porter in her soft pink sweater and black pencil skirt when they stroll into the office she works at.

She smiles too widely and answers too fast, and she’s way too helpful. Dean’s pretty sure that even if they haven’t found the bad guy, they’re at least on the trail that will lead there. Ms. Porter knows more than she lets on.

When they got back in the Impala, Dean tapped on her steering wheel, glaring at the office. Frowning, he turned to Sam in the passenger seat.

"She give you the heebs?"

Sam’s mouth turned down and he made a face. “And the jeebs.”

"We should tail her."

"Yeah."

So they staked out the parking lot and waited for Ms. Porter to leave. She staid way past closing hours, and Dean had to find a better spot to look inconspicuous in after most of the cars were gone from the lot. When Ms. Porter finally left, driving a very responsible Toyota , Dean tailed her at a distance as she drove out of town.

They were led out into the countryside a ways to a creepy run down looking house. Of course. Definitely suspicious. Probably witchy.

Dean had kept a good distance back from her, and they parked on the side of the road when she disappeared down a rutted dirt drive. So she had a head start on them when they snuck down the drive and circled the house, listening for anything, making sure there were no surprises or traps waiting on the outside.

It’s just like any other hunt, and Dean knows he was right on the mark about Ms. Porter when they break into the house and hear ominous chanting coming from the back room. Signaling to Sam, they split through the middle of the house to clear it and met up again outside the room the noise was coming from. Dean kicked down the door and Sam backed him, the two of them pouring in to the room to find Ms. Porter in her pink sweater bleeding over a bowl of some hoodoo crap with black candles lit on the table and an old looking book sitting open there.

Dean raised his gun for a shot the same time Sam did, but Ms. Porter laughed and something exploded, the whole room engulfed in pink smoke that choked him and made his eyes water. They heard glass breaking and barged forward after Ms. Porter only to find she’d jumped out the window.

They were on the first floor, so Dean followed her out of the broken window, running across an overrun lawn to the edge of a forest. It was dark, and he was not familiar with the area however, unlike Ms. Porter. Cursing after he had stopped crashing through the edge of the forest when he realized he had no idea where she had run off to, Dean trudged back to the house. Sam was studying the book, scrawling down sigils that had been painted around the bowl, gathering up what he could.

Dean figured they could head back to the motel and try to figure out what was done, then track down the witch again.

There was a sickly sweet smell that cloyed at the back of his throat, like rotten fruit that had started to mold.

-

"I don’t feel any different. Do you feel any different?"

Dean tumbled in to the motel after Sam. They’d gathered up the remains of the witches spell, hastily sketched down the sigils that had been painted on the floor, and sped back to the motel to regroup.

Sam shrugged, tossing his duffel on the small table in the kitchenette. “Uh, not really. Do you think we should split up? Who knows what triggers the effects of the spell.”

"I think we should find this son of a bitch - again - and fast, and gank her. So no, we stick together and we take care of this."

"Let’s at least give Bobby a call, maybe he can figure out a way to reverse the spell."

Dean gathered up all the scraps of paper that had the sigils scratched down on them, all the meager information they had to figure the puzzle out by and it looked so inadequate considering the gravity of the situation but they’d done more with less. Taking it over to Sam to pass off and let Sam do what he did, Dean handed the papers over to his brother. Sam was standing hunched over the little table, pushing around books and digging out his cell to call Bobby. Dean thumped him on the shoulder and shoved the papers into his hands.

When their skin touched, he felt something like a jolt of electricity judder through his body. Like the time he was stupid enough to tazer a rawhead in a puddle of dirty basement water and ended up nearly killing himself. Sam had gone stiff next to him, standing up tall with his shoulders pulled back and his eyes gone wide. Like getting electrocuted, Dean ended up holding on tighter instead of pulling away.

The papers were crumpled and scattered on the table and Dean had his whole hand clamped around Sam’s wrist, skin to skin with the sleeve pushed up. When the violent lash of energy had subsided, he tried to pull away. It didn’t feel like they were fused together with the heat of raw electricity anymore. But when he pulled back, he was actually pushing forward, and Sam was too, pushing in to his space, pushing him back against the wall.

Sam’s hands found their way to his hips, bare and broad against him pushed up under his shirt, and Dean felt the sharp tingle of something passing through him again, passing between them. Pushing up on his toes he pressed his mouth to Sam’s, teeth digging hard in to soft lips with the sudden ferocity of it. Licking in to his baby brother’s mouth, digging in to his body, Dean sucked and bit at Sam’s tongue, at his lips, not even noticing how rough Sam was with him in return.

When the metallic tang of blood flooded his senses, Dean felt the harsh sting of that electric current mellow into something else. Something deeper and insistent. Something buried inside him that he needed to find out. It thrummed and pulsed with his erratic heart beat, pushing poison through his veins that made his skin crawl.

Biting down hard on Sam’s lower lip, Dean pulled, the slick of blood making his teeth slide so he sank them in deeper and heard Sam cry out. Hands pushed at his shoulders, separating them, his head thunking back on the wall with a dull pain. Sam was looming above him, eyes dilated so wide the hazel he knew was gone, cheeks flushed, blood dripping down his chin.

"Oh shit."

It was the both of them that said it in synch, agreeing that there was something very very very wrong crawling beneath their skin. There was a heat in his muscles that compelled him, and Dean vaguely wondered if this was what being possessed felt like. But there was a heavy oppressive fog in his mind that blanketed his awareness, being driven instead by some vicious impulse, this heat that flared between their skin.

Dean was ripping at Sam’s shirts, pulling them up, tearing them, anything to get them off. His own chest was bare where Sam had stripped him, pushing him back as they stumbled towards the bed closest. When Sam pressed his chest against Dean, it was like he could hear something humming underneath Sam’s skin, something hidden inside him too, something that pulled at Dean and he had to know what it was. They ripped and twisted at each other’s jeans, hands desperate to get rid of that layer between them while they kissed each other’s mouths, necks and shoulders.

Twisting as Sam pushed, Dean fell on the bed sideways of him, limbs tangled up together. His shoulder throbbed where Sam had latched on to him with teeth and the sudden movement had torn them apart. Dean could feel blood on his skin, wet and hot, but the smell of it. The sharp smell of it was under laced with the barest cloying tease of something overly sweet. Dean sank his teeth into Sam’s chest, straddling his lap and pressing him down, ripping in to the skin.

He could taste it there. In Sam’s blood. Something secret. Something he had to know. Something he had to possess. It was under Sam’s skin, within him. Dean tore with his blunt fingernails and his blunt teeth, savagely breaking open lacerations across Sam’s chest. His own shoulders and back throbbed in pain where Sam was doing the same to him. The more he tasted the more he wanted and it was an aching desperate thing to know that there were lies hidden in his brother’s body that were being kept secret from him.

Dean knew there was something wrong with Sam because their dad had told him so, but even before that shattering revelation, he had sensed, he had. There was always something different about Sam. And it pulled him in like Dean could never break out of his brother’s orbit. But Sam had betrayed him. Had left. Had lied. Dean would find out all the things that Sam knew, he would know everything thrumming through his brother’s body. All he needed to do was get under Sam’s skin.

There were secrets there. In how the tendons connected muscle to bone, in how ribs shifted to accommodate breathe, in how Sam’s tongue curled around lies and kept them pressed to the top of his palate. Dean knew he was hiding something.

There were things in Sam that never made it out to the tips of his fingers or through the part of his lips. Dean wanted them all.

It was arousing, to know his brother so intimately. To split him open and drink of the hidden things in his body. Dean was hard and his cock was slipping in the blood that had spilled down Sam’s chest, down his own, their bodies rolling and rocking together on the motel bed slicked as they gouged each other open. Dean had Sam pressed down, grinding their red smeared cocks together, fingers digging in to Sam’s biceps and teeth tearing at his shoulder. Sam’s long hair was matted with blood, his face smeared, as he panted and clawed at Dean.

Pushing up, hands slipping on blood wet skin, Dean pulled himself apart from Sam. He had things he needed to tell his brother. His own lies. His own guilt kept heavy and hidden in his heart, secret shames he never told Sam. When he opened his mouth the only sounds that came out were broken animalistic things, pitiful noises.

Sam heaved, his hips jerking up and his hands pulling at Dean’s hip to push him off. Dean scrabbled at the messy sheets starting to get thick and sticky with their blood. He feared that Sam was pulling away from him, but found himself handled so that he was on his knees with his face pressed to the mattress. There was a small puddle of blood soaking in to the sheets where Sam held his face down. Nostrils flared at the smell, at the feel of Sam’s hands on his skin and teeth in his muscles, Dean writhed and tried to twist around.

Sam forced his legs apart and pushed in between his thighs, bodies sliding, fever pitch, skin itchy and hot and popping at the seams. One of Sam’s massive hands held him down by the nape of his neck as his brother pushed in to him. He felt like he was being ripped open, but the ache of torn muscles there only joined the cacophony of burning thrumming hurts all over his body where Sam had torn into him with teeth and fingernails.

It wasn’t enough though. As much as Dean wanted to tear his brother open and lay him bare, Dean wanted Sam to flay him apart and pull out the dirty hidden things he kept clutched close to himself. He wanted to be exposed, wanted Sam to take it all out of him, to devour him.

Dean trembled and screamed and ripped at the sheets as Sam fucked in to him brutally, pinning him down under the weight and force of his body. Teeth dug into the meat of his back, worrying at the skin until he was broken open again, and again. Dean snarled and howled, he needed to get at Sam, needed to feel the heat of him and taste that sweet rotten undercurrent in his blood.

He continued to struggle furiously until Sam was pulling him up. Rolling and twisting around, Dean straddled Sam’s lap and his brother guided him down, sitting on his cock and burying his face in Sam’s bloodied neck that was drying tacky. Dean tore into his skin again, hands gripping his shoulders and teeth stripping off his flesh so the blood flowed again. He could almost taste it, almost knew, what the secrets were buried in Sam that he was supposed to find.

Grunting with the deep searing ache of Sam buried inside him, thrusting mercilessly and grinding up into him, Dean lapped at the blood flowing over his shoulder, snapped his hips and cried out. He felt light headed, dizzy, but still compelled by the heat that flared between their skin and an unrelenting foreign urge to sink into the deepest darkest parts of his brother. Dean came against the press of their belly’s together, drinking down the rich taste of Sam’s blood, fingers pulling at jagged edges of skin torn up by his and ripping, shredding, peeling, opening Sam’s body up.

The mad frenzy eased after they had come, bodies still twisted up, the bed squelching wetly with all the blood they’d shed and Dean could feel the undertow of unconsciousness calling him down to ease the pain in his mutilated body. Sam groaned and flopped him down onto his back, following suit, kneeling above him. His brother moved from the raw broken skin of his neck and shoulders down to less marred stretches of his stomach and sides. Dean writhed and reached up to brace his hands against the wall. Bumping the pillow aside he felt the cool handle of the knife that he kept underneath his pillow. His hand closed around it and he knew what he needed to do, he knew what was necessary and that he was capable of it.

Locking his legs around Sam’s neck, he wrenched his brother aside and heaved himself on top of Sam’s body, moving uncoordinated and slow. But all he need to do was thrust his knife down into Sam’s belly and pull, from the bottom of his ribcage to the dip of his navel, Dean split him open. It worked much better than his fingers or his teeth ever could.

Sam seized up underneath him, body wracked with a cough and his eyes were wide, his hands reaching up for Dean. Frantically, Dean discarded the knife and ripped at the wound he’d made, shoving his hands into Sam’s body, pushing and twisting at the slick give of his organs and reaching.

Up. Up he ripped into the diaphragm and stretched his hands underneath Sam’s ribcage. The skin of his body heaved and twisted at the intrusion, the stench of his insides and the stench of his death curling up into the room. But Dean could smell that sweetness there too, over ripe fruit that was rotten and molded. He could smell it. Clawing and tearing at Sam’s soft insides, he found the round shape that fit into his palms and his body suddenly jolted with knowing, that electricity again, tingling through him.

Screaming hoarsely, Dean tugged and wrenched until he had pulled Sam’s heart down and out of his abdominal cavity. Stringy trails of arteries and veins clumsily ripped from his body, Dean awed at the offering cupped in his hands. Sam had gone still beneath him, but he was still warm, still inviting coated in both their blood as Dean sat atop him.

Lifting it to his lips, Dean bit into Sam’s heart and his whole body shuddered with the revelation. This, this was where that sickly sweet fruit taste had originated, his heart had pushed it through his system, and it was all his lies all his secrets kept shrouded up in here where Dean wouldn’t think to look. But he had them now, and he could take them, take all of Sam’s hurtful deception, consume it, destroy it, then there would be nothing. Nothing between him and his brother. So he ate.

Toppling over onto the bed next to Sam, the remains of his heart tenderly clutched in Dean’s hands, Dean could feel all of his own deception seeping out as he bled sluggishly from the myriad of wounds. But that was as it should be.

They’d be together. With nothing between them now that they were laid bare to each other, now that Dean had taken his lies and obliterated them, had taken Sam in to himself and consumed him. They'd be together now, forever.


End file.
